The Return
by theusedfan411
Summary: One night, after Sherlock's death, Dr. Watson finds a man broken and bleeding on the steps of 221 Baker Street, the last person he thought he'd ever see again. Sherlock. The only man he ever loved. Slash, Johnlock. After 2x03, no Mary.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**_** : So... Second Sherlock fic here. Less AU than the other one. Hope you like it.**_

* * *

It had been two years since I watched Sherlock fall from the top of Bart's medical building. Two years since I watched the first and only man I had ever loved kill himself. My life was in shambles, I worked countless hours at the clinic, and still lived in our apartment on Baker Street. I missed him everyday, waking up to silence.

I never thought I would miss even his blackest moods.

Mrs. Hudson was so supportive, letting me keep my rent, even though _He_ wasn't there to pay his half. My therapist had helped me through the worst of it, when I began to feel as if life wasn't worth living. That had been a dark time.

Now I was stable, if not happy. I could smile at my patients without dying on the inside. I could hold a normal conversation. But, in the dead of night, I longed to hear his voice. To see his cold inquisitive eyes scan me for anything that had changed.

But I knew it was unlikely he was coming back. It would have to be a miracle.

He was always good at those.

I walked down the stairs, to Mrs. Hudson's, so we could go over what we would finally do with the scientific equipment that still cluttered our -_my-_ kitchen table.

"John..." She said as I sat down at her kitchen table. "I don't want to move on, either, but it's been two years. Don't you think you should find someone else? Another, less... Well, you know..."

I had confessed my attraction to Sherlock to her not too long after I told my therapist. She had told me she'd always known, from the first day. It was comforting, in a way.

"There is no one else. He was the only one who made me feel like that. And he was oblivious."

"Well, it didn't help, you constantly telling everyone 'I'm not gay.'"

"But I'm not. I have only thought about one man that way, and that was Sherlock. No one else."

We both started at a small, weak knocking on the door. It was well past nine-thirty p.m.

"Now, who could that be?" The kind old woman muttered as she moved to get it. A year ago, I would have thought, _prayed,_ that it was Sherlock. That he'd returned. But it never was. Every time my small fragile bubble of hope burst, when it was a delivery person, or a few times a person looking for lodgings.

I followed her to the main door, and as she opened it, I was in for the surprise of my life

* * *

•°•°•Sherlock•°•°•

I stumbled down Baker Street, clothes tattered, and falling off of my gaunt frame. I just wanted to see John one last time, before the wounds took their toll.

I had finally managed to dismantle Moriarty's vast criminal network, and it was time to go home. To see my John.

He was so clueless as to how I felt for him, unknowingly turning me down every time I made a slight advance. I saw in his eyes that it would have been be unwelcome for me to kiss him. But I wanted to, so badly. I had to know the feeling of his lips on mine before I died.

I fell on the steps to our door, my cracked ribs breaking fully as I collided with the pavement. I knocked on the door with all of the strength I could muster.

Within a minute, the door opened to the two faces in the world I needed most.

Mrs Hudson and Dr. John Watson.

"John... I just..." Each breath I drew in made me want to scream. "I'm sorry." I coughed, as he quickly dialed the hospital, and ordered an ambulance.

"Sherlock, it's alright, you're going to be okay. " He knelt down next to me on the ground. Taking my hand in his, he lifted my head into his lap. "You're not dying on me okay? I won't let you."

He appeared to have tears pouring from his eyes at the sight of my mangled body. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could feel the same. If he could find me attractive.

I clutched his hand as we waited for the ambulance, never taking my eyes from him. God how I missed my blogger.

"Thank you, Sherlock. For hearing me. For not being dead." John whispered softly, as the wail of the siren grew louder. They were almost here. "I felt like you could."

"I was there John. I heard. But Moran, Moriarty's second in command wouldn't have stopped. I..." I coughed again, a dark globule of blood coming up. "He would have killed you. All of you."

The paramedics came tearing into Baker Street, and stopped where we were. A tall man, and a slightly older woman leaped from the bus, pulling out a stretcher.

"It's alright. You're going to be okay. I'm not leaving, " was the last thing I remembered as I was transferred to the stretcher.

* * *

_**A/N: Do I know it's dramatic, but there's a purpose...**_

_**I think.**_

_**Reviews much appreciated. :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

•°•°•Sherlock•°•°•

I awoke to the annoying beeping of machinery. Rough, uncomfortable clothes were on my body. I could hear the quiet breathing, and murmuring of hospital personnel.

"It's on him now, Mr. Holmes. There's nothing more we can do. The sedatives will wear off in a short while, and you can speak to him."

"Thank you." Mycroft's irritatingly posh voice said, though he seemed to let out a genuine sigh of relief.

"Should I tell Dr. Watson about his condition?" The doctor asked.

Yes, I pleaded silently. Tell John that I'll live. Get him in here. Please. _I need him with me._ I almost opened my eyes to tell them that, but Mycroft beat me to it.

"John Watson should be in here when my brother wakes up."

For once, Mycroft was right.

As soon as I heard the doctor's footsteps exit the room, I opened my eyes. "Mycroft? Apparently I'm not dead... Why am I not dead?"

"Sherlock, you have Dr Watson to thank for your currently living state. Brother Mine, you have a _friend _there. When I arrived here, he was demanding to know if you would live. It was almost... Touching."

"He saved my life, again." I said quietly.

I finally looked over at my older brother. He seemed unnaturally thin, like he'd actually stuck to his diet. His suit had been taken in, twice. But the biggest shock was that he now has a "significant other". Interesting... I wondered what kind of person was crazy enough to fall for my brother. He must be very special.

"Yes, Brother Mine, I am in a relationship. Your babysitter is a very interesting person."

"... John's mine." No, John and Mycroft were not together. Not _my_ John.

"No. It's not John. Gregory Lestrade is quite the charmer. I don't know how he did it, but he's made me... _feel._" Mycroft delicately shuddered, as if he didn't thoroughly enjoy it. I knew him enough to see he was seriously falling for the DI. "We began talking after your funeral, and he kept in touch. One thing led to another, and now we're... _Involved. _"

"Is Gregory really his first name?" I laughed, and instantly regretted it. Cracked ribs and movement didn't mix very well.

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"Did you manage it? Did you dismantle Moriarty's network? Can you stay?"

I looked at him again. He had sat in the hard plastic visitors chair in the room, elbows resting on his thighs, and hands clasped between his knees. "Yes. I have. Why, Mycroft, it's almost as if you're glad to see me "

"I am glad that you are alive. I worried about you, while you were gone. I've lost fifteen pounds due to worry. Gregory was seriously concerned, and now he has a few choice words for you, when you recover."

At that moment, John entered the room. God, it was good to see him. I missed the calm he brought to my mind, and the security he gave me. Most of all, I missed his understanding acceptance of me. He could see me, and didn't run when I needed him to stay.

"Well, I will leave you two alone. Gregory is expecting me for dinner."

John just stood next to my bed, staring. He had aquired a few more lines on his face and a haunted expression in his eyes. I hated the look of fear, as if he thought this was all a dream.

"Sherlock." He said softly, as he sat in the chair my brother had so recently vacated.

The one small word, my name, spoken from his lips sent shivers down my spine. I missed the way he made me feel alive.

"John. I-I am so sorry." I murmured, looking away. "You had a sniper trained on you, and if he didn't see me jump, you, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly would have died. "

"It's... Sherlock, I don't know how to say this..."

I still refused to meet his eyes. I knew what was coming. He'd found someone else. Someone who was _the one, _and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. _He was leaving Baker Street. _I felt an uncomfortable pricking sensation behind my eyes at the thought of losing my John.

"I didn't know how to let you go."

I cautiously looked at him. What did that mean? He wasn't seeing someone? I was, for the first time in my life, utterly perplexed. I didn't like it.

"Sherlock, did you expect me to just move on? You are such a big part of my life. I didn't know what to do without you."

* * *

°•°•°John°•°•°

Sherlock was here, so close. I wanted to take him in my arms, and never let him go. I was going to set some rules when we got back to Baker Street, namely that he wasn't allowed to die on me, ever. He really had expected me to have just gotten over him so easily. It made my heart break that he couldn't understand what I was saying.

I would never give up on this tortured genius, would always keep the darker moods at bay.

I needed him to provide meaning to my boring existence.

"Sherlock, for the first year, I half expected you to walk through the door, as if you'd simply stepped out for some air, and that you'd sit in your chair and ask if there were any cases. " I moved my chair slightly closer, and rested my hand on the bed, close, but not too close to his.

"But it eventually set in that you weren't coming back. Without you, life isn't worth living."

"I didn't think I meant that much to you." He said sadly. I closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Opening them, he was still there. He hadn't disappeared on me. It wasn't a dream.

"Sherlock, you're my best friend. I couldn't just forget the few years we had spent sitting around, solving cases, how we've always had each other's backs. I will never forget you."

I wanted to say so much more, like how his voice made me shiver, or how I missed his eyes, eyes that saw deep into my mind. I loved him, in a deeper way than I had ever before. None of the women I had dated while we were living together made me feel the way he did. That's why, after Sarah, I had stopped dating. Because I realized I was in love with a man that I didn't know whether he could love me back.

I knew he cared about me, but could he love me?

I didn't know, yet.


	3. Chapter 3

•°•°•John•°•°•

Sherlock, for once in his life, listened when I told him to sleep. It was a miracle brought on by excessive pain killers. I watched him as he began to get drowsy, and closed his eyes. Then I went to find the attending doctor for him. I saw a nurse's station at the end of the hall, and made my way to it.

"Hello, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes' attending physician. I'm John Watson." I asked the nurse.

"That would be me, " a voice said behind me. "I was just going to check on him."

"No need. His vitals are stable, and he's sleeping now." I took a deep breath, this was going to raise some eyebrows. "When can I bring him home? Sherlock hates hospitals, and I just want him safe in our flat. I can care for him, as I _am_ a doctor."

"You sound like you're his lover." Adams laughed at his own sarcastic comment. I wanted to punch his smug arrogant face in.

"He's my best friend I actually give a shit about him, alright? Sorry if it sounds "gay" to you, but he's closer to me than my own sister." That shut him up, and I watched the cocky grin slide off of his face.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Erm yes, well, we want to keep him overnight for observation. And he'll need to be on bed rest for three to five weeks, or until his ribs heal. He doesn't need to be tearing open those stitches, either. " Adams frowned at me. "Do you know how he got those injuries?"

"No. I don't need to know what caused them to make sure they heal." I turned away from him, going back to the flatmate I so desperately wished was more.

Quietly I entered his room. He lay on his side, facing away from the door. He looked far too pale in the dim blue lighting, his black curls standing in sharp contrast to the alabaster of his skin. I settled into the hard plastic chair, wishing there was at least a couch I could sleep on. I decided on a night of sitting there awake.

"John?" I heard Sherlock's baritone voice mumble. "Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm right here, I'm staying the night. We'll go back to Baker Street tommorow." I wished I could sleep with him, hold him in my arms. Imagine my surprise at what he asked next.

"Can you sleep with me? I-I I'm cold."

"Of course." I carefully climbed into the bed with him, trying not to jostle him. I lay on my side, facing his back, trying to give him space.

"Thanks." He reached over, and found my hand, taking it up and placing it on the small dip of his waist. I savored this, knowing it was the painkillers making him crave the physical touch. This wouldn't be happening if he wasn't loaded with drugs, and exhausted.

"Just get some sleep, Sherlock, I'll be here."

I could tell by his breathing that already he was asleep, and I tried to get some rest myself. But my mind kept focusing on our intimate position. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I moved closer, my arm curling around him, and my hand moving to rest just below his solar plexus. I breathed in his smell, the smell that was pure Sherlock.

"Goodnight."

* * *

°•°•°Sherlock°•°•°

"John Hamish Watson, may I ask what your intentions are with my brother?"

Mycroft's irritating voice interrupted my pleasant dream of being held by John. Only, hm. It seems as if John _was_ holding me.

But thanks to my dear brother, John shifted away, rolling out of bed. I glared at the would-be ruler of Britain, as I gingerly turned over. "I was cold, Mycroft. " I said, my voice bitingly cold "John kept me warm. And besides, that chair is totally unfit to sleep in."

"Umm. Okay, I'll let you two sort this out yourselves, I'll get your release papers, Sherlock. " He walked from the room briskly, obviously uncomfortable at the fact my brother had caught us cuddling.

"Sherlock, are you really going to risk your relationship with him, for a brief romantic fling?"

"It's not a "fling" _ Myc-y. _I truly have feelings for him. I think I might love him."

Mycroft sighed, "Love is fickle, Sherlock. But, for what it's worth, I hope he feels the same." He said it disinterestedly, as if he was simply commenting on the weather, not wishing me well in my love life.

"Thanks."

The once-callous government official changed the subject as John walked in. "Sherlock, your clothes were in complete tatters when you got here, so I stopped by Baker Street and picked up some for you."

"Thank you, Brother Mine."

"Alright, do you need help standing?" John asked as he took the garment bag from my brother.

"I can stand. My ribs broke, not my legs." Sitting up, I put my feet on the floor. Now came the hard part. I got unsteadily to my feet, grabbing the bed rails so I didn't fall. "You can go back to running the country, Mycroft. John's here."

"If you wish."

I took my hospital gown off, as he closed the door behind him. I wasn't embarrassed with John, not after the Buckingham palace escapade. He's already seen me naked. Pulling on my trousers, I noticed he had averted his eyes, giving me privacy. But as I began buttoning my shirt, he glanced over, and his pupils were like black holes in the bright lights, as he looked at my bare torso.

He... Wanted me? I was unsure, wishing I could take his pulse, I expect that it was racing.

Just as soon as he caught my eye, he looked away, his shoulders tense. He didn't want me to know of his attraction to me? But why? Was I really that cold, did he think I wasn't attracted to him as well?

"John, I'm ready." I said. I wondered why it was so unwelcome, his evident attraction to me. Maybe he was new to having feelings for a man. I certainly wasn't, but for John it would have shaken him to the core. He always had insisted he was straight. He always quipped, "I'm not gay."

"Sherlock, hello?"

I snapped out of my thoughts, mentally leaving a note on the door of my Mind Palace to reorganize John's wing.

Yes, he had a wing. He was _important._

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, do you want something to eat? I can call Mrs Hudson, and have her have it ready when we get home."

"I could use some food. Haven't had a proper meal in probably a week."

John gave me the look he used whenever I refused dinner, or didn't sleep a few nights in a row. "You're having a full meal at Baker Street. No refusals."

I smiled at him, "I would like that. I really am hungry."

He shook his head and grabbed my things. "Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Now they finally are back in Baker Street... Hope you enjoy...**_

* * *

•°•°•John°•°•°

Sherlock had been home for three hours, and so far he was a model patient. He had eaten a large meal, brushed his teeth, gotten in pyjamas, and now rested in his bed, _without complaint. _It was a bloody miracle.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked as I set a glass of water on his bedside table.

"Could... Could you stay? I haven't had a single person with me for two years. I-I missed you, John, I missed how you understand me." He half-smiled and patted the empty space on the bed, next to him. "Please?"

"Sherlock, you don't..." But his big gray-green eyes begged me to join him in the bed. I sighed, and admitted defeat. "Alright."

I carefully climbed into the bed, trying not to bounce. He laid his head down, as I settled in. We both laid on our side, facing each other. I could taste his minty breath.

"John, I really am sorry for not calling you, or making some sort of contact. I thought you were better off. I didn't want you to come after me." I looked into his eyes, so close I could see bits of gray, green, blue, and even gold in his irises. I could, for a brief moment, see a new emotion there, but it disappeared before I could identify what it was.

"I would have brought you home. Or joined you." I said, knowing in my heart that whatever he needed, I would have given without remorse.

He worried his lower lip, as he thought, the space between his eyes crinkling.

I so wanted to kiss him.

"John," he hesitated.

"Sherlock, I want to apologise for the things I've said and done that have hurt you. I didn't mean to cause you pain."

Sherlock kept chewing on his lip, then out of absolutely nowhere, he grabbed my wrist. My heart sped up, just at his touch. It kicked into overdrive when he whispered, "Can I kiss you, John?"

God, he wanted to kiss me? I heard the words "oh, God, yes," dragged from my lips as his beautiful eyes bored into mine.

* * *

°•°•°Sherlock°•°•°

I leaned in closer to John, softly connecting our lips. He reached out, taking me in his arms, as I tilted my head to the side slightly, deepening the kiss. John seemed to remember my injuries, because he moved closer to me, rather than pull me to him. God, this was so much more than the experiments I had done in Uni... This was _John_. I ran my tounge along his lower lip, desperately wanting to taste him. He opened up, allowing me to slip my tounge into his mouth. Mmm... He tasted good, better than I had imagined.

His ankle pressed between my calves, and he stroked my tounge with his. I was getting rapidly aroused, until he pulled away.

His pupils were blown wide, and I could feel his pulse racing beneath my fingers, as I held on to his wrist. He had enjoyed it.

"Sherlock... Is this real?"

I frowned slightly, of course it was real. "Obviously. What, did you think it was an experiment?"

"I didn't know. You've experimented on me before, like at Baskerville, and I thought it was something like that. Just a test. I wanted that to happen, don't get me wrong, but I don't know if you did."

"John, the surprise here is you, I thought you weren't gay?"

"Sherlock, you don't choose who you fall in love with."

I laughed slightly breathlessly, he fell in love with me? When? I let go of his wrist, placing my hand instead on his neck, my thumb stroking his stubbly jaw. "John, I've never felt like this before."

He smiled, his eyes soft. "Neither have I, not this intensely." He briefly pressed his lips to mine.

"Sherlock, do you think it will work between us? A relationship? I want one, but I know that the work comes first, and I don't want to distract you."

"John," I replied, "you distract me when you aren't there. You do nothing but help when you are." I spoke my heart to him, trying to make sure he understood how much I truly needed him around, needed the safety and security he gave me. "Besides _this,"_ I said, pressing myself to him, so he could feel my semi-arousal, "we were already in a relationship."

"Hm, we were, weren't we? We shared finances, took care of each other, hell we lived together like a couple without ever being one." He smiled at me reaching up and running a hand through my mess of curls. "I'm sorry for all of the girlfriends. "

I swallowed, God, he really meant it when he said he'd fallen. "I'm sorry for The Woman. I know you were jealous."

"Don't worry about it. We're together now, that's all that matters. "

The last thing I saw as I closed my eyes and prepared to sleep again was John's face, and I heard him say, "just get some rest, alright? You need it to heal."

"Hmm.. Stay?" I mumbled, not letting go of him.

"Of course." He pressed his lips to my temple and settled in closer. "I'll always stay, for as long as you want me."

"I'll always want you."

"Then I'll always be here."

* * *

_**A/N: sooooo... Well, I liked it, what do you think?**_


	5. Chapter 5

•°•°•Sherlock•°•°•

"It's good to have you home, Sherlock."

Mrs. Hudson set my tea in front of me as I sat at mine and John's kitchen table, munching on a ginger nut.

"John was a complete wreck without you. Did you have a chat with him, about how you both feel? I know feeling aren't your strong suit, but John..."

"I love him, Mrs. Hudson. He knows. And he loves me." I took a sip of my tea, and picked up another biscuit. It was an enormous relief to be home.

John walked into the room, then. He had been on the phone with his work, seeing if he could take his vacation days on short notice. "Well, that's settled." John said, .

"Did you get the time off?" I asked, glancing at him.

"Yeah. It was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was tell them how my former flatmate, now boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes just returned from the dead, and that he needs me to take care of him while he heals from a savage beating. They wished you well, and told me I could have as much time as I need." John grinned foolishly as he sat at the table with me. "You took your antibiotics?"

"Yes, but I don't want the painkillers. I don't need another addiction to fight." I looked away, as I sipped my tea.

"Sherlock, I made sure it was nothing more than paracetamol, and ibuprofen. Non-addictive."

He took my hand in his, as I looked back at him. "John... Thanks."

"Well, Mycroft would have killed me if you were getting high again."

I laughed, "No, he would send an assassin, do you really think he would get his hands dirty? Speaking of my brother, do you know he and Lestrade are together?"

"Yes, it's weird to think of your brother in a relationship." John frowned slightly. "It was a cold day in hell when Greg asked out _Mycroft._"

"Not really. They've both dealt with me for a long period of time; they can commiserate about the struggles of dealing with me." I tried to laugh it off, but I know John knew that I was serious.

"Sherlock, " John's frown deepened, as he held my hand tighter. "No one 'has to deal' with you. I _enjoy _having you around. I know Greg likes you. And Mycroft has a funny way of showing it, but you're his only brother, he loves you."

"John, your optimism is almost infectious, at least it would be if I didn't know how much of a freak I am."

"Sherlock, don't believe Sgt. Donovan. You're unique, not a freak. There's a difference. And I don't believe you when you claim to be a sociopath. You clearly love me, and sociopaths can't feel love. So there."

I gave him a small, sad smile for his wishful thinking. "High functioning sociopath, John. But I'll bite, what's your diagnosis, doctor?" I looked down at my tea, waiting for the hammer to drop. To hear how royally messed up he thought I was.

"Sherlock, it's just Asperger's." He moved his chair next to mine, and pulled me into his arms. "You don't understand your emotions, but you have them. It's actually rather common, for people as smart as you."

"Mmm. I think I can live with that diagnosis." I kissed him, gently. "You really don't mind that I have that?"

"Sherlock, I've known you have it since the first year I've lived with you. Greg knows it too. It doesn't change the fact that we love the way your brain works. Doesn't change how much I love you."

He loved me? I inferred it from our previous conversations, but I wanted to make sure. "You actually love me? I love you, I think."

"Of course, Sherlock. I love you."

I rested my head on his shoulder, relaxing. "I've never had a boyfriend before. I like men, obviously, but I've always put my work first, counting others as distractions. You're the only one who actually helps the work go faster, makes life easier."

"Well, you were pretty, erm, _experienced_, for someone who's never been in a relationship... I've never been attracted to men, but you're different. I find you incredibly sexy."

I laughed, "I know what I'm doing, John. I... Experimented... In Uni. Figured the art of seduction was useful. Never thought I would need to use the knowledge, but useful to have."

"You learned well, you're a fantastic kisser."

"Your opinion is the only one that matters." I replied, "What are we going to do today? "

"_You_ are on strict orders to relax. No objections."

"After two years on the run, I could use a little relaxation. If you're with me."

"Of course I'll be here. And Greg's dropping by later. He is pissed at you, you know? You caused Mycroft to become skin and bones, and he's going to tell you to never make him that worried ever again. And I second that notion. If you ever fake your death again, Sherlock, so help me God."

I yawned, feeling tired again. "Trust me, John, if you think I would do that to you again, you're mad. I missed you like you wouldn't believe."

"I missed you too. I didn't know how to live without you. It was pretty pathetic. Do you want to go back to bed? I heard that yawn."

"Fine, but only if we can go back to bed together. I want to spend every second I can with you, to make up for the ones I missed. "

"Sherlock... You're adorable."

"Am I? I wasn't trying to be."

"You still are. You and your cheekbones."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: just realized it was Lestrade, not Molly that was the third target. I should have watched the episode one more time before writing this...

So sorry.

•°•°Sherlock°•°•°

I woke up safe and secure in John's arms for the fifteenth morning in a row. I took a deep breath and inhaled his musky cologne that still lingered from the day before. There was no better spot to wake up.

"Hey," he murmured, gently rubbing my back. "You're up."

"I've been sleeping eighteen hours a day for over two weeks, John. I think it's time I get a case. I can't sleep forever."

"Sherlock, are you ready for one? You're not leaving this flat until you are one hundred percent healed. I mean it. I don't want you going out, and getting killed, because you pushed yourself too hard. I can't lose you."

I sighed, pushing myself up, and propping my head up with my hand. "John, I can't sit around, twiddling my thumbs, until some idiot decides I'm healed. I need a case."

John's expression seemed to convey some hurt feelings, at my calling doctors idiots. "John, I didn't mean you. You are not stupid, not more than the average person. But those people at the hospital, they don't have a clue. I didn't mean to offend."

"I know you didn't, I just worry that you're going to go out, chasing down some murderer, and misjudge your strength, and die, because you weren't fully functional." John gently stroked my cheek, eyes sad. "I've lost you once, I don't want to a second time. You get your stitches out next Friday, and the idiots will check your ribs, make sure the bones have mended properly. Can you wait until then? For me?"

I sighed, knowing he put up a very good argument. I didn't like it when he was right. "Fine, next Friday. But I'm tired of being cooped up in the flat all day. Do you think Lestrade will finally be able to stop by today? I really missed telling him his theories were incorrect."

"Sherlock, Greg's not going to come over just so you can show off." John laughed quietly. " But I do think he'll be here today. He called and told me he was getting over the 'I want to kill you for making your brother that worried' phase. Now he can have a rational conversation with you."

"Were you angry with me too, at first? I am sorry, you know. But I couldn't let you die, and if Moran had suspected that I wasn't really dead, if you didn't grieve, then you and Mrs Hudson, and Greg would have been killed." I blinked hard, confused, because John was smiling. Why...

"Sherlock, I was more relieved that you'd come home, rather than be angry you'd faked it." He grinned widely. "I learned a long time ago to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when you are involved." He leaned in, and kissed me briefly, then pulled away, and got out of bed. "Let's get some breakfast, then if Greg hasn't shown up by lunchtime, we can go to Angelo's. We could use a change of scenery."

I laughed, remembering our first time there. "You want to go on a date with me? At Angelo's?" I put a dressing gown on over my pyjamas, as I followed him to the kitchen.

"Well, it would be a fitting place for our first date, to make up for me insisting that the first time wasn't a date. I could have saved us years of pining, if I'd admitted I was interested in you." He pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Did you find me interesting at all then?"

John appeared to not care about my answer, by his attitude, but I knew better.

"I thought you were very interesting, and handsome, but it took me a few months to let myself fall for you, even then I didn't really want to, because you insisted on being straight." I said softly, as I wrapped my arms around him from behind, while he fried up the eggs. "And now look where I am, you have become more important than the work." I kissed his neck as he put his free arm around mine.

"I thought that the work was all that mattered. It's nice to know how much you love me."

I sighed.

I really loved him more than I loved myself.

"I love you just as much, you know."

"Do you? Because for a long time I thought I was unlovable, and that I was unable to love. That I was just a machine. You proved me wrong."

John simply turned his head, and kissed me in reply. I leaned in when he started to pull away, wanting more.

"Let's eat." He said, his eyes sad for some reason.

"Okay." I agreed, and resolved to ask him why he was sad, after we ate.

* * *

°•°•°John°•°•°

I sat in my chair, across from Sherlock in the sitting room, as he told me how he had convinced everyone he was dead.

"So, Mycroft, Molly, and some homeless people are the only ones who knew that you were alive?" I asked, slightly hurt.

"Yes. Again, John, I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you." He suddenly glanced over to the door. "Greg's here."

"How do you..." I got up, moving to the door. Sure enough, Greg stood there, once it opened, looking nervous, and at the same time slightly angry. "Hey, Greg."

"Where is he? I need to have a few words with that Detective of yours." He was still pissed at Sherlock, apparently.

"Words. Nothing else, yeah? My boyfriend's still recovering, alright?" I muttered, as Greg pushed past me.

"You know, I don't give a damn, he needs some-" The words registered with our friend, as he was halfway to the living room. "Did you say boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Greg, boyfriend. " I clapped him on the shoulder, as twelve separate, and distinct expressions of confusion crawled across his face slowly. "We're dating, alright? Come on, you know how I feel about him. Well, he feels the same. Don't be so thick."

He ran a hand through his hair, as I pulled his chair over by ours. "Sherlock, you... And John..."

"Yes, John and I. I'm sorry for the faked suicide. I had to or else you, John, and Mrs Hudson would have been killed. I... I couldn't let that happen. I'm sure you understand, you're not that much of an idiot." Sherlock briefly looked at him, as he said, "I really am sorry, Greg."

"Sherlock..." Greg sat in his chair, more like collapsed into it, "It wasn't, it's not that you were dead. It's that Mike was worried sick about you. He's lost fifteen pounds, and he was thin enough before. Now he's skin and bones."

Sherlock pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. "I really am sorry for not calling. I didn't know how much he cared."

"It's alright. He loves you, underneath it all. He just doesn't know how to show it. It your Asperger's. Mike has it too, a bit. Getting him to go on a date with me was like pulling teeth. But now he freely admits he loves me." Greg took a deep breath, and leaned back in the chair. "I can't stay mad at you, Sherlock. It's not your fault. Just, don't do it again, yeah? It would kill your brother, and John too, probably."

"He won't, Greg. I promise you, if he fakes his death again, I'll kill him." I grinned at Sherlock, showing him I didn't mean it. "I love you."

"Love you too, John. I would never fake dying, again. I would find a way to take you with me. Those two years without you were pure, unadulterated hell. Never again."

"Well, now that that's settled, I have something to ask you, Sherlock. It's kind of important." Greg smirked at him. "I really want your opinion on this, it's about your brother."

"Alright, go ahead." Sherlock sat in his chair correctly now, attentive.

"I would like to ask him to marry me. Would you approve?"

* * *

°•°•°Sherlock°•°•°

Greg wants to marry **_Mycroft?!_**

Actually marry him. Like as in, tie himself to that seemingly emotionless power-hungry...

But he seemed to really love my brother, judging by the way he was pissed at me for making him lose too much weight.

And Mycroft, however much he denies it, truly cares for the DI. So.

"Of- of course you can marry my brother, Greg. I don't understand why you want to, but yes, you can."

Greg's grin broadened. "Thanks mate, I appreciate it. He really loves me, and I'm crazy about him. The boys at the Yard constantly poke fun at me for dropping everything when he calls. It's a little bit ridiculous, but whenever he needs me, I'm there."

"You probably are the first person to break through his shell, Greg. He told me that you make him feel. He pretends not to enjoy it, but I know better."

"I know. I think that I was his first boyfriend, ever. It surprising, because he's damn good looking."

"John's my first boyfriend as well. I've experimented, in Uni, but never been in a relationship."

"Well, I'm happy for you two. You deserve each other."

"Thanks Greg."


	7. Chapter 7

°•°•°Greg°•°•°

I hailed a cab from Baker Street, after my long visit with John, and Sherlock. I had told them stories of Myc, how he wasn't all that bad, once he finally took his guard down

Rain started to fall, as I got into the taxi, giving the cabbie my address, I pulled out my phone to call Myc.

"Hello, Gregory." Myc answered on the first ring. "I'm almost done here, if you wanted to come to my flat."

"Actually, love, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat tonight. I just stopped by to see your brother, and he recommended a little Italian restaurant, over by Northumberland Street. He said that they have excellent risotto." I smiled to myself, as Mycroft pretended to deliberate. I knew that risotto was one of his weaknesses.

"Alright, Gregory. What's the name of the place? I can be there in twenty minutes."

"It's called Angelo's. But give me a little bit more time, because I need to stop by my flat. Now, I know it won't be your sort of restaurant, but Sherlock was adamant about us trying it."

"Greg, my sort of place is wherever you happen to be. I worry about the class of people that Sherlock associates with, but I'm sure nothing will happen to us."

"I love you, Myc."

"You know that I love you too. I'll see you in thirty minutes."

I grinned to myself as the car pulled up to my building.

"I'll be right back, I just need to grab something. Don't go anywhere." I told the guy as I got out.

The rain started to pick up, as I ran up to my flat, and unlocked the door. I quickly pulled a tie out from my closet and put it on, then went to my dresser and grabbed the little black velvet box that held the ring I picked out a month ago. It was simple, a Sterling silver ring, with an onyx inlay. I prayed to God he liked it.

°•°•°Mycroft°•°•°

I nervously waited at the entrance of the restaurant, hoping that he wasn't going to leave me waiting in the rain. As a cab pulled up to the curb, I saw Greg's face in the window, smiling at me. Adjusting my grip on my umbrella, I hurried over to him, and sheltered him from the rain.

He grinned at me, and kissed my cheek. So apparently it's not a break up dinner. Good

"Hello Myc. I missed you today."

"I missed you too. Work was exceedingly monotonous." I took his hand, shielding us both as we walked to the door. He held it open for me, as I closed my umbrella and went inside. He joined me seconds later. "You are right, Greg, this wouldn't be my first choice of dinner places. But if you are here if might as well be Buckingham Palace."

"Hello, how may I help you two gents?" The proprietor approached us, with two menus in his hands.

"Reservation for Lestrade." Greg said. "Don't I know you?"

"Of course you do. You tried to pin a murder on me. I'll get you and your date a table."

"Angelo, now I remember! God I was an idiot!" Greg laughed, and explained. " Your brother had just started assisting the Yard, and he proved that Angelo was not the murderer, because he was robbing a house on the other side of the city."

"Sherlock..." I muttered, shaking my head. I looked around the room, and caught a glimpse of black curls, and the oh-so-familiar belstaff coat hiding in a booth adjacent to the one Angelo was leading us towards. Damn him.

I noticed then that Sherlock had Dr. Watson with him, their hands interlaced on top of the table, and heads inclined towards each other. Hmm. Apparently the good doctor felt the same way as Sherlock. Good for my brother, but if John in any way harmed Sherlock, steps would have to be taken.

I sat at the table, positioning myself out of Sherlock's line of sight.

"Someone will be right with you." Angelo said, as he handed us the menus.

As soon as he left, I asked Greg, "So, what's the occasion?"

"Wha- why does there need to be an occasion, Myc? Can't I take the man I love out to dinner? Gregory Lestrade was hiding something, I could tell from his nervousness, and the way he didn't answer my question.

I analyzed him, while pretending to look at the menu. He didn't appear to have someone else, but maybe he had just gotten tired of me, and...

The waiter interrupted my thoughts, as he asked, "What can I get you two gentlemen?"

"Myc?" Greg looked at me.

"Chicken risotto, and a cup of coffee." I said, handing him the menu.

"I'll have the lasagna, and a coffee, as well."

"Coming right up." The young kid took our menus, and departed.

"You know me so well, Greg."

"Well, I love you, so..." He smiled at me, and squeezed my hand gently. I could look at that smile forever.

"I love you too, Gregory. You know that, or, at least you should." I frowned, irrational worry creeping into me. "Love, why did you ask me here? I'm, I'm just afraid that you're... Breaking up with me." I looked away, trying to suppress the emotions that always managed to bubble up in his presence.

"Myc. Mycroft. Look at me. I'm not ever breaking up with you. I fucking love you." He squeezed my hand again, and I looked back at him. He had a strange look in his eyes, and a nervous smile on his face

"Myc, listen, I love you. I've told you so many times, it's not my fault if you don't believe me. And, well, I'm almost fifty. We, We're not getting any younger, and I was wondering..." He let go of my hand, moving around the table to kneel in front of me.

On one knee.

Oh, God. He was proposing.

My hand -not the left- went up to my mouth, as tears formed in my eyes. Greg pulled a small velvet box out of his jacket.

"Mycroft Holmes, would you make me the happiest man alive, and do me the honor of being my husband?" He opened the box, revealing a beautiful onyx and silver ring.

"Ye, Greg. Yes, of course I will."


	8. Chapter 8

°•°•°Mycroft°•°•°

Greg slipped the ring onto my finger a a cheer went up in Sherlock's booth. I glanced over at my little brother, as Greg pulled me up into his arms. Sherlock had had a broad grin on his face, and John was holding his phone, capturing the moment on video. I buried my face into my fiance's shoulder, and whispered, "I love you, Gregory Lestrade. So much."

"For the fifth time this evening, I love _you, _Mycroft Holmes. More than anything." He kissed my neck, holding me tightly. "I'm not ever going to leave you. No matter what."

Sherlock completely ruined our moment, by quipping, "Greg,next time you ask me if you can marry my brother, tell me you intended to do it _that day._ It was pure luck John and I had already had a reservation for dinner, or else you wouldn't have gotten this on video."

"Sherlock, for once in your life, _let me have my moment._" I let go of Greg, turning to my beastly little brother. "You always do that."

"Now, now, girls. Let's not fight. You're both pretty..." John stepped between us. He had a grin on his face, and shook my hand. "Congratulations Mycroft. _We,"_ John briefly glared at his significant other, "are really happy for you two. We really are."

"Thank you, Doctor Watson. Just so you know, if you hurt my brother, the threat still stands."

John seemed utterly taken aback. He stammered out, "Don't you trust me, after all these years?"

"With my brothers life, most certainly. With my brother's heart..." I paused for emphasis. "That has yet to be determined."

"Well, I can guarantee you, that I will never hurt him. I would sooner die."

"That can be arranged."

"_Myc, _you're supposed to be _happy._ Not threatening your brother's boyfriend." Greg complained, as we sat back down. "I mean, come on, we just got engaged, for cryin' out loud." He laughed. "Seriously, relax. John would never hurt Sherlock. So be happy for us, be happy for them. Just... Be happy."

"This _is _me being happy."

"No, I know when you're happy. You are worried about Sherlock having a boyfriend, and you're letting it ruin this. Sherlock is the one, out of the two of them, who would hurt the other. Simply because he isn't always aware of how people feel."

"I know. It worries me."

Greg rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well let it go. Please? For just one night, be my fiance. Not an insanely protective big brother, or the entire British Government. Just be Myc. Please."

I picked up his hand, weaving our fingers together. "I'm sorry. It's hard for me to let things go. Worrying is a job for me." I turned our hands, so I could admire my ring. "It's beautiful, love. Who helped you pick it out?"

"Your assistant, Anthea. And I showed Sherlock a picture of it, he said it was your taste."

"I've been with Anthea every day for the past two weeks, because of the Korean elections. When..."

"Myc, that ring has sat in my drawer for a month now. We picked out the design two months ago, and had it specially made for you."

"I love it."

The waiter entered then, with our food and coffees. I thanked him, and was surprised to see two glasses of champagne on the tray, along with our order

"It's on the house. Congratulations, gentlemen." The kid walked away, and across the restaurant, I saw our host grinning broadly. I nodded to him mouthing 'thsnk you'.

"You're welcome." Was his response.

Sometimes having Sherlock for a brother had its advantages, namely free champagne from a restaurant owner/ burglar.

* * *

**_°•°•°John°•°•°_**

"Do you always have to torment your brother? I mean Christ, Sherlock, let him be happy. He deserves it." I grumbled as soon as we got home.

"John, you don't understand our relationship. We constantly try to ruin each other's lives. That's what we do." Sherlock retorted. "I wasn't kidding when I said he was my arch-enemy." Sherlock took his coat off, and went to our room.

"Sherlock, we are not done with this conversation. You need to tell me **_exactly _** why you hate your goddamn brother so much!"

Sherlock stormed back into the room, his face livid. "Do you really want to know why I want to just see Mycroft miserable? Because all my life, he'd convinced me my brain was inferior to his. **_ That's _**why I needed the drugs, the stimulants. Because I was trying to keep up with _**him. **_Oh.. but it never worked! Oh no! Then when I got clean, was he happy? Could he ever be happy for me? No! Then, when I'm finally safe, _and_ happy, what does he do? He fucking _**threatened **_you, John! Instead of saying something like, 'I'm happy for you two' he threatens to have you assassinated!"

Tears were falling from Sherlock's eyes, as he vented. I'd never seen him this emotional, and it slightly scared me. "Love, I'm sorry..."

That only seemed to make it worse he took me in his arms, clinging to me like a life preserver. "I don't want you to be sorry, John. I just... I just want my brother not to ruin what we have. I just want him to approve."

"Sherlock... It's okay... I'm not going to leave you because of Mycroft. I'm not going to leave you ever." I rubbed his back, as his tears soaked my shirt. "I love you. Okay?"

"I love you too, John. I'm sorry for yelling. He just..."

"I get it... It's alright..." I kept rubbing his back as he calmed down.

"Well, date night didn't turn out so well. God."

I gently guided him to the couch, and he curled up in my arms. "Sherlock, I was wondering, what are your parents like?"

"Exceedingly ordinary. They're very... supportive. In fact, they would probably want to meet you."

I ran my hand through his soft curls, thinking. "Did they know? That's why they weren't at the funeral, wasn't it?"

"Sorry. Again. Maybe I can introduce you to them. If you would like that. Then I can meet yours," he mumbled into my shoulder. His hands clenched my shirt, as he sighed.

"I don't think it would be good for you to meet my dad... He's not like your parents, he's... Very homophobic. That's why Harry drinks, because of the way he is about her being a lesbian."

"I'm sorry." He said, as I held him closer.

"'S not your fault, Sherlock. He's just an arsehole." I kissed his forehead, gently rubbing his back. "I hardly hear from him, anyways."

"I just don't want you hurt, John."

It truly felt nice, to know the depth of his feelings. I knew he thought I was important, vital to everyday life for him. But to know he cared enough to not want me to be hurting over my father's opinions... "You love me Sherlock. It's natural."

"Of course I do, John. You're my whole world. I _need_ you. Always."

"I need you, too. You always make life interesting." I could tell that he'd fallen asleep, and I gently resettled him on the couch, getting him a pillow and blanket. I kissed his cheek, before turning on the telly, and going to my chair.


	9. Chapter 9

_**•°•°•Sherlock•°•°•**_

"So, Mr Holmes, how do you feel?" Dr Idiot asked. He seemed dimmer than most.

"Fine, 100%." I muttered as I removed my jacket and shirt. The bruises and burns were mostly healed, here and there were faint patches of yellow. Most of my injuries were healed, only the scars remained.

I glanced at John, with a grin. I guessed that he would be staring at my bare chest, now that I knew he found me attractive. But for some reason he sat rigidly in his chair, looking anywhere but my bare torso. I didn't quite understand, why wasn't he taking this perfect opportunity?

Dr Idiot, sorry _Adams, _began examining the stitches, and declared, "I believe that these can be removed today. The cuts healed up nicely." The nurse handed him a pair of sterile scissors, and he began to snip apart the cat-gut holding my skin together. It was slightly uncomfortable, the tugging, as he pulled it out, though I knew he was trying to be gentle.

As he hesitated on the final cut, I could tell he had questions about the cause of my wounds. "Adams, just ask the question." I said, rolling my eyes at him. I looked again at John, wanting him to be alright. I still didn't know why he was so uncomfortable. Was it that he didn't want Adams to know about our relationship?

"Erm, Mr Holmes, how did you get all of these injuries? It looks like you were tortured..." I saw John's hand grip the arm of the chair tightly, and I understood. He didn't want to see how he couldn't protect me.

"I was thrown from a bus, beaten to a pulp, and briefly held in a Serbian terrorist cell as their prisoner. Also I was in a knife fight, just before John saved my life, again." I sighed, wanting John to see how he did protect me, how wanting to tell him of my feelings kept me alive long enough for him to rescue me. "I was on the run, and undercover for two years, I aquired a great many injuries that managed to heal, it just so happens that the worst were inflicted just as I returned home."

"My God..." Adams muttered, shocked. "You're so... calm about it." His hands hovered over the final stich as I simply shrugged.

"I don't dwell on the past." I honestly didn't want to discuss the details of my life with this idiot. John was the only person who had the privilege of knowing my inner turmoil. I saw him out of the corner of my eye turn to Adams, angry.

"Listen, would you please quit pestering him, and remove the bloody stitches?" John was _very_ pissed, but not at me, probably. "Adams, Sherlock has been through hell, and doesn't need you to remind him of it." He was definitely pissed at the idiot. That's fine... I think.

"Sorry, John... God you really do sound like a protective lover sometimes, you know?" The doctor muttered as he made the final cut, and stepped back.

"Well, _now,_ I am his extremely protective lover." John said, as he picked up my jacket. "We finally made the step from pining-for-each-other flatmates to boyfriends."

I smiled at him, taking my jacket as I kissed his cheek. He grinned and laughed at the other doctor's face, as we walked down to radiology hand in hand.

"_**He**_ was indeed an idiot, Sherlock." John said, with a grin. "You were definitely correct about the hospital doctors. They really don't have a clue."

* * *

_**°•°•°Sherlock°•°•°**_

"Are you happy, John? I'm officially healed." I murmured, as we arrived home at Baker Street. He was once more, pissed at the physicians who took care of me. They made simple comments, nothing too hurtful, but I had to stop him from seriously injuring the radiologist when she gave him a look.

"John, are you okay?" I asked as I helped him with his coat, then took mine off. He sighed, and went to sit in his chair.

Putting his head in his hands, he mumbled what sounded like, "I'm fine. Hate judgey people. Not you."

I decided to make him some tea. He always did it for me, and I enjoyed seeing his smile on the few times I made him his favourite. "I'll put the kettle on." I said, half to myself, as I walked to the kitchen. The water boiled quickly, and I plunked tea bags into our mugs, filling them with water. Once the tea was steeped, I removed the bags, added milk to John's, and milk plus sugar to mine, bringing them to the living room.

"John," I said softly, handing him his mug. He looked up with a smile, taking it and drinking. "Don't let them bother you."

We sat in companionable silence, as we drank our tea, until John asked, "Sherlock, do you intend to do anything besides kiss me?"

I was slightly startled, my mind jumping ahead. "Well, that's up to you, John..." I replied, my voice shaking. "I would very much like to do more than just kiss you, but you've never given me any indication you would be willing..." I was slightly nervous as he put his tea down.

"I was waiting for you to be fully healed..." He murmured, standing, and pulling me up. He hesitantly kissed me, as his hands pushed my jacket off of my shoulders.

"You really want to?" I asked, working on the buttons of his shirt, as he kissed my neck. I was rapidly becoming aroused, as John continued to do that. Finally, I finished the last button, and was surprised to see that he had very good muscles beneath his shirts. I knew he was strong, but..

"That tickles..." He said, as I traced the contours of his chest. He removed my shirt, and I thought to myself, we are actually about to have sex, I'd wanted this for quite some time, but I hoped that the reality was going to be even better than the fantasy.

It was John, after all. _My _John.


	10. Chapter 10

_**°•°•°John°•°•°**_

I gasped as I had the most intense orgasm of my life, and it was _Sherlock_, my totally scared-by-sex boyfriend who gave it to me. He grinned, as he took off the condom and curled into my side, slipping one of his long legs between mine.

Damn he was good.

Sherlock rested his head on my bare chest, gently murmuring, "That was good, John. So much better than the last time I had sex." Looking up at me, he grinned, seeing I still couldn't string together a sentence. "You enjoyed it?"

I laughed, breathlessly adding, "Obviously."

He had a peculiarly calm look in his eyes, as he gazed up at me with a small smile on his face. It was soft, and _content._ Whenever I looked into his eyes in the past, I saw a contantly raging storm of deductions, analyses, and inferences. But suddenly it wasn't there...

Because of me.

Warmth flooded my chest as that realization occurred. _I_ found a way to help the storm calm, if only for a few hours. And _God_ was it good to know for when he eventually gets into the boredom phase.

I stroked a large, puckered pink scar on his back, wishing I could have prevented it. "I love you, Sherlock."

He snuggled closer, if that was possible, and murmured, "I love you too. Always will."

I laid my head back, settling into the pillows. I'd never felt like this with anyone else. I never would have given my life, at least not as willingly, for anyone else in my life. I'd been this way with Sherlock since the begining of our relationship... Even just when we were flatmates, I was ready to die for him.

I knew he needed help interacting with normal people, hence the cues I gave him. But I couldn't be with him twenty four hours a day. I could quit my job, we certainly had enough money, with me having taken so many extra shifts before. That was an option... But.

But. Our whole relationship hinged on that single word. But what if he starts to not want me around? But what if we break up. But what if...

I focused on the feeling of Sherlock in my arms. He needed me.

Maybe not _quitting_ the clinic, but scaling back on the hours. That seemed like a good compromise.

"Sherlock," I said softly, "I think, when I go back to work tomorrow, I'm only going to work a half day. Do that from now on, so I can spend more time with you." I kissed his forehead as he turned his face up, smiling.

"I'd like that, John. I like having you around to talk to, not just Skull." He sighed, picking his head up, and propping himself up on one arm. "John," he began, and I could tell he was going to start confessing something, i just hoped that it was good. "John. I know that it seems like I never notice when you leave... It's just... I can't fathom with this brain of mine why you'd be anyplace else." His lips quirked up into a small smile as he laced our finger together.

"John, I love you... No, I _need _you more than I can consciously understand." He looked at me intently, like he was trying to read my mind. I briefly wondered if he could.

I smiled, kissing him softly. "I've both almost died for you, and killed someone to keep you safe. I think that says it all." He chuckled, settling down, back into my embrace.

We stayed like that for a while, aimlessly chatting about anything and everything, until his phone went off. "Stay right there, Dr Watson. We're not done cuddling."

God, hearing 'Dr Watson' in his sexy baritone made me fall in love with him all over again.

He climbed out of the bed, fishing around for his jacket, which contained his stupid cell phone. I hated the damn thing, as it was interrupting my Sherlock cuddle time.

"Damn." Sherlock rapidly texted whomever it was back, and went to the wardrobe, getting fresh clothes. "Mycroft is on his way over with a case for us." He said, looking over his shoulder at me. "I'm going to shower."

I grumbled to myself about older sibling being horrible, until I heard the invitation in his voice. I grinned, grabbing a towel and some clean clothes. Following Sherlock to the bathroom with a small smile.

Still wished we didn't have to deal with Mycroft, but at least we got to have shower sex...


	11. Chapter 11

°•°•°John°•°•°

"Sherlock." Mycroft eyed our couch distastefully, as he stood in our flat. "I have an assignment for you." He really was insufferable.

The arrogant sod _knew_ Sherlock was healed. He came the instant he had received the word from the doctors, and now he had a bloody _assignment_.Sherlock seemed to find it rather amusing, Mycroft's discomfort at being here. I must admit, it did slightly smell like sex.

"What's the mission, Your Majesty?" Sherlock sniggered, thoroughly enjoying this. I could tell that however impatient he was for a case, Sherlock would never easily accept one from his older brother.

"Sherlock, one of my agents _died_ to get this information to us. Show some respect." Mycroft glared at him, assessing his little brother. "Oh _God_. Really Sherlock? You and John were..."

"Of course." Sherlock replied with a grin. I knew how much he loved to make Mycroft uncomfortable, and letting him know that we were just having sex a few minutes ago was certainly effective. I really wished he hadn't confirmed it though. Sort of private...

"Your intel, Brother Mine?" Sherlock asked cheerily. I could tell he was still riding his post orgasm high, and loving the extra serotonin.

"Sherlock, we need to discuss this. You just lost your _virginity, _for godssakes!" Mycroft seemed to be amazed at how much Sherlock didn't care what he thought.

I tried to put together a snarky comment, something along the lines of 'we sort of both did...' I mean, I'd never slept with a man before, but Sherlock had never slept with someone he loved... Same thing, right? Sherlock beat me to it, quipping that he _wasn't _a virgin, which I thought Mycroft would have known, seeing as he knew supposedly everything.

I hoped we could change the subject soon. This was starting to get a little bit awkward.

"Anyways, your mission?" Sherlock grinned at me, as his older brother floundered.

"Erm... There's an underground network planning an attack on London." Mycroft was completely at a lost, his brain scattered. "That's all he could say."

"Isn't that kind of what terrorist cells do?" I asked, laughing. "Like, you know their version of golf?" Sherlock laughed as well, and we tried to be serious as Mycroft gave us his iciest glare.

"Can you for once, act your age?! This is serious!"

He swore under his breath as we both looked at each other and then shook our heads. Annoying Mycroft was terrific fun. Now I know why Sherlock does it so much.

"I'll find your terrorists, Mycroft. Give me a few days with my network." Sherlock said, as his brother turned towards the door indignantly. "Don't get your skirts in a bunch."

"Are you implying that I take after Uncle Rudy, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked primly, as he grabbed his coat and the ever present umbrella. "You are the one who has a closet full of costumes."

"Disguises, Brother Mine. You however tried out for the part of the Lady Bracknell in school, remember? Passable but a bit over the top, I must say." Sherlock sniggered, as Mycroft glared even more intensely.

I laughed hard, as I realized what that meant. No one ever tries out for the girls parts... Unless you're Mycroft, and secretly love to cross-dress.

The man in question slammed the door as he left our flat, and I almost died at the look on Sherlock's face. He was so satisfied with himself.

"So Mycroft..." I gasped between laughing fits, "He'll be the one in white!"

°•°•°Sherlock°•°•°

I pinned a map of London on the wall above the couch, along with pictures of the 'rats', the telling factors of an imminent terrorist attack. John had gone to the clinic today, after I assured him that I would be able to manage on my own. I was slightly relieved that he was at work, because I knew if he had stayed home I'd never get any work done; we'd have locked ourselves in the bedroom all day. For a man almost forty, John has surprising stamina.

I filed that thought away, into John's recently reorganized wing of my mind palace, into the new room simply labeled 'sex'.

I got a message from my network then, and crossed off rat number four from the map with a magic marker, putting a large X through her picture.

A welcome distraction came a few moments later, in the form of a client. He was young, early twenties, obsessive compulsive, and a recluse, which I could tell simply by his hat, and he was rather overweight, the most likely cause being his sedentary lifestyle.

"Sit." I instructed, indicating the Client Chair.

"Hi. Umm..." He obviously didn't know how to begin. "You see, I work with the Underground, reviewing security footage, and..." He paused irritatingly.

"What did you see on last night's footage that alarmed you?" I prompted.

"How..."

"Don't be an idiot. Obvious, due to the fact that today's footage isn't in, and you're here. Child's play."

He then laid out the details of the case, and even showed me the video clips that were interesting. Almost a seven.

"You see, it's bizarre."

It was rather enlightening, this clip, it indicates that there is indeed a terrorist plot. The big rat, rat number one, just did a highly suspicious act.

I showed the young man to the door, informing him that I would call him if I had any further questions, and sat on the floor in the middle of the room.

I entered my mind palace, weighing facts against theories, balancing counterbalancing every possible scenario. My body's objections were ignored, and I continued on my search for the answer, the solution to the puzzle.

Suddenly someone was speaking to me. Shouting. I shut the door on the room of the underground system, and re-entered reality. It was John. John was shouting at me, no. To me. "Sherlock bloody answer me!" I shook my head to clear my thoughts, and tried to read his face. It was John's concerned face. Why was he concerned? It was only...

I glanced at my watch. Oh. It was well into the night time, 9:47 to be exact.

"Sorry. Mind palace." I said, by way of apology.

"Sherlock..." He said softly, helping me up off the floor. My legs were slightly stiff. "Come on, let's get some food in you."

I sat at the kitchen table, agreeing to toast and marmalade. As I munched, I began to explain the facts of the intertwined cases to him, but John cut me off, saying, "Sherlock, no working. Eat and rest. You can go back to it in the morning."

I smiled, switching my brain to John mode. My favorite.


	12. Chapter 12

•°•°•**Sherlock**°•°•°

Within two days I had solved the case for Mycroft, and dealt with the media about my resurrection, once more the press's golden boy.

How I hated it.

John had been of the utmost help, and as soon as I had switched off the bomb in the abandoned subway tunnel, he pinned me against the wall and snogged me. It was rather enjoyable, and the look in his eyes as he told me I was incredible even more so.

John sat blogging at his desk that evening, and I decided to do something special for him. Deciding on making him a perfect gin and tonic, I snuck off to the kitchen, and our supply of alcohol. I had just gotten everything out when I heard Greg's footsteps on the stairs.

Dammit.

"Come on in, Greg," I called, hastily putting away the ingredients and taking up my client pose in my chair.

"Hey, Greg, got a murder for us?" John joked as the detective inspector entered our flat.

He seemed a bit tense, off put, as he breathed heavily and raked a hand through his hair. Several times my future brother-in-law tried to speak, but it seems that 'Scotland Yard's Finest' was completely lost.

John shook his head, going to the cupboard and poured Greg a stiff drink, and ordered him to drink it. The stalwart DI had the gin gone in one gulp. I immediately diagnosed shock. My supposition was confirmed when he began to speak.

"We found a skeleton in a cellar. A walled in cellar." Silly. What's so scary about a simple skeleton? He's seen much worse than a pile of bones.

I asked as much, but in less derisive terms.

"It was just sitting there, probably had been for centuries, just a bunch of bones and fragments of clothing, sitting at a desk. It was spooky."

Oh, Lestrade, how quaint. I accepted the case, though it wasn't even a five. Probably not a four.

°•°•°•°•°•°•

"It's a fake." I pronounced five minutes after being admitted to the crime scene. "Skeleton and clothes are from a fire damage sale, propped up here to fool you." I straightened up, dusting off my coat from the grit falling from the ceiling.

"Cheers. Good to know."

°•°•°**John**°•°•°

"Well, Mr Peters, you're going to be fine. I'm prescribing a course of antibiotics, which should clear it up nicely." I handed the old man the paperwork, and packed up my things for the day. Sherlock was expecting me home, and I wasn't going to make him wait.

I stepped out of the cab at Baker Street, and saw a light on in the living room. I hurried up to our flat, only pausing to say hello to Mrs Hudson. Once I was actually in our flat, I knew everything was fine. Sherlock was just conducting one of his experiments in the kitchen, wearing safety glasses and gloves while toasting an eyeball.

"Hello, my love, how was your day?" He casually asked, as he took a torch to the optical nerve of the eye. He set it down after examining his handiwork for a few seconds and took off the protective gear.

I grinned. "Fine. Yours?" He chuckled softly, and came to me, taking me in his arms. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and it was my turn to chuckle softly. "Did you get bored?"

"I conducted several experiments to pass the time. Molly dropped by with some fresh body parts for me."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

°•°•°

"Sherlock, I love you," I murmured softly as we laid in each other's arms that night. His head was pillowed on my chest, and a stray curl tickled my chin. Sherlock looked up at me, eyes soft.

"Shut up." He smirked, trying to brush off the sentiment.

"Or what?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Or I'll just have to marry you."

°•°•°**Sherlock**°•°•°

"Mycroft, I don't think I can do this, in fact I can't do this. What if -"

"Sherlock, you can and you will. Do you honestly think that John isn't waiting at the altar for you, on complete pins and needles, fearing that you'll get cold feet?" My big brother and best man straightened my tie and suit coat, sighing. He'd been dealing with my pre wedding jitters for the past three weeks, ever since it sunk in that John and I were really doing this. That I am actually getting to marry John Hamish Watson, the man who I would consider my soulmate, if the notion wasn't foolishness.

I took deep breaths, preparing myself to walk down the aisle towards my future husband. At the doors to the chapel, Myc took my arm, while the traditional wedding march played. John had the most beautiful smile on his face, as he stood next to Greg and Harry at the end of the room.

It took everything I had not to break away from my brother and sprint down to where he was. I forced my steps to the pacing of the song, and it took _ages_ to finally get to my John.

I took his hand at last, whispering, "Hey."

"Hey."

We turned to the minister, and repeated the traditional vows, already giving each other the speeches of love last night, as Mycroft took me away to stay at his place for the night before the wedding. We exchanged the rings, and John dragged me down into a passionate kiss before the minister could even finish saying "You may now kiss your husband."

"I love you John." I carded my fingers through his hair, as the guests let out a cheer.

He grinned, whispering, "If I didn't feel the same I never would have married you. Now shut up and kiss me again."

I did.

°•°•°**John**°•°•°

_Many years later..._

Sherlock stepped into our little cottage on the Sussex Downs, a large bee sting on his face. I chuckled, shaking my head and getting an ice cube from our surprisingly body parts free freezer, and I carefully pressed it to the angry welt.

"Love, if you insist on keeping bees, then you really need a bee suit. I told you that ten years ago." I smiled, as his hands took the ice from me and he rolled his eyes at me before going to write his observations in his large notebook.

The bees were my brilliant husband's retirement project, he observed their behavior and wrote it all down in notebook after notebook, and I kept the house. I did pick up a shift here and there at the nearby town's clinic, just as Sherlock helped the local constables with their mysteries.

It was the best way that I could think of to spend our retirement years.

Sherlock's gray head poked out of the bedroom. "Can you make some soda paste? The bee was particularly venomous."

I laughed and made paste from a small amount of sodium bicarbonate and water, knowing that it would draw out the venom. I knew that he still wasn't going to buy a bee suit, because Sherlock Holmes was the most stubborn man in existence.

But I loved him more than life, and hoped we'd have another thirty-five years of marriage ahead of us.

I really did.

* * *

_**A/N: Find more Johnlock and Destiel over on Ao3 under typewrittencurlie!**_

_**I had a lot of fun with this one, and there's a bunch more over on Ao3, even an Omegaverse ficlet!**_

_**I'm going to totally convert to that platform, sorry, but I prefer their features, now that I've finally gotten the hang of them.**_

_**Hopefully I'll see you soon!**_


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